Whole Lotta Love
by Clavis Salomonis
Summary: Dean has feelings for Sam that could be taken as more than brotherly, not that he'd ever let himself admit it, Sam knows something is up, but not the extent of his sibling's sickness. DeanXSam


Whole Lotta Love

Dean Winchester first truly realised something wasn't quite right when they drove through the vast emptiness of the Arizona desert.

The hot, yet dying sun hung low in the dirty and dark expanse of the usually aqua sky. The horizon dyed a deep blood red by the gaze of orange – gold rays, promising of an equally hot and dry tomorrow.

Nothing to see but sand and sky and highway.

Sam had been in the shotgun position at his side, headphones jammed into his ears, half mumbling, half singing some song Dean didn't care about, to himself.

The elder Winchester sighed, rolling his shoulders, trying, in vain, to eradicate the small, yet persistent, thump and crunch of arching pain that had grown, embedded in the muscles and tendons of his back.

"Uhn tiss, uhn tiss, uhn tiss baby…" Dean had paused, giving his younger sibling a quick sidelong glance, before shaking his head slightly.

What kinda trash you listening to Sam?

"So try my slam on for size…" The younger Winchester's voice had a rough edge to it, the timbre of it moving perfectly with the melody.

"Drive stick with that kung-fu grip," Sam's pointed pink tongue darted out of his mouth, licking his bottom lip. His eyelids fluttering but staying closed, as if he was having a dream.

Dean felt a small flush of heat rise to his cheeks.

He coughed slightly, moving himself lower in his seat and tightening his grip on the wheel. Not enough for his knuckles to turn white, but enough for his short fingernails to dig into the more fleshy parts of his hands.

"Let the banana split, and watch it go right to your thighs,"

Dean flinched slightly, losing his concentration on the empty road ahead of him –which, oddly, had become quite interesting- his foot spasmed slightly, just tapping the accelerator harder for a second before he caught himself.

"Abracadabra that," the elder hunter snorted a little scornfully, the lyrics bringing a smirk to his handsome features.

"Wanna bang around? Just jot me down on your to-do list,"

Dean Winchester swallowed, his breathing quickening ever so slightly. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Sam's head was haphazardly turned away from him.

His soft brown hair moving gently from the breeze coming in from the window. The hair trailed down to his jaw line where a small bead of sweat had accumulated and now slowly ran down his smooth golden skin, gliding past the taut muscle, to underneath his shirt collar.

Dean let out a breath he did not know he had been holding.

It took a minute for him to shake his head vigorously.

_Gross. _Even his mind stammered.

"I've got somethin', and it does thumpin' like this," Dean couldn't help but turn his head as his brother muttered the words, couldn't resist the temptation. Wanting one more taste. One last hit.

Sam seemed to subconsciously arch his back, eyes still closed as he let out a rhythm of sounds obviously representing beats, both his left hand and leg thumbing along in time. His whole body seemed to buck, like he was –

Dean snapped to attention, focusing on the road so intently he almost burst a blood vessel.

He bit down hard on his tongue, the pain a fresh and clean distraction.

"All you need is my uhn tiss, uhn tiss, uhn tiss…"

He repeated the last few words. Much to Dean's … discomfort.

"Uhn tiss, uhn tiss, uhn tiss baby."

Th elder Winchester drew in a breath sharply though his nose.

He tried to replay song in his mind, any song; he would have mumbled it out loud if he hadn't been so busy biting his tongue. And if he could think of a single one.

"How do I get in your pants when you're tick tockin' them?"

He could hear the hitch in Sam's breath, the sound bringing images of muscle and skin and sweat.

"-So tight can't be classified, that's why I'm here to fill that opening-"

_Oh God. _ Fever burned his skin, moisture building on his forehead.

"- Make a seasoned pass to mount that ass, and bob hope that I might one night stand a chance-"

Dean tried not to breath, the scent of Sam filling his lungs, the hear of the day, sweat and the strangely almost floral scent the younger Winchester had underneath the strength of masuline aromas.

"-Let's go feng shui the fuck around my dig's like a superball-"

Dean almost choked.

"Bring that sunny side up and-"

He tasted iron; his mind fooling him for a second into thinking it was salt. Warmth filled his mouth and he swallowed, his tongue stinging where his teeth had cut.

"I've got somethin', and it goes thumpin' like this,"

Dean curled his toes, all his muscles tensed.

"All you need is my uhn tiss, uhn tiss, uhn tiss,"

The motel came into sight on the horizon.

"Thank you, merciful God…" He murmured.

~~~~~~*~~~~~~

Dean hated it when Sam laid on his bed, hated the fact that some deep twisted part of his brain told him he looked good on it.

He blew out sharply through his nose, like a bull, standing in the doorway.

"Sam, why are you on my bed?" He spoke simply, the annoyance just shining on the edge of his words.

The younger hunter looked up from the book he was reading.

"I'm on your bed?" He asked, completely innocently. The fact that he was oblivious to who's it was irritated Dean more than if he had known.

"Yeah. You are." Sam cocked his head at him. "That's my knife under the pillow, if you wanna check."

He tried not to let his words sound aggressive.

It didn't work.

"Fine," Sam got up, his voice calm, apologetic. "I'm sorry Dean."

_He must think I have PMS or something… _The elder sighed, knowing he was being unreasonable, and hating the fact that Sam was taking it.

Just trying to keep him happy.

Come on Dean, cut him a break, it's not his fault you've got the hots for your brot-

He cut his mind off mid sentence. No way in Hell or Heaven he was ever gonna think that.

Never gonna utter the words, even to himself.

"Thanks." He managed gruffly, going to sit on the side of the bunk, his right hand carrying the brother's lunch from the local fast food joint. He sighed before reaching the bed.

"Gonna smell like Sam now…" He grumbled, his voice low.

I'm gonna have to sleep with that scent right in my face, like Sam was right under-

"What did you say Dean?" His brother asked, Dean spun around.

"Nothin- Hey! Are you wearing my shirt?!" His face screwed up; he dumped the food on the bed, taking a step closer to Sam before stopping himself.

"Yeah, none of mine are clean, we have to do laundry…" Sam looked at him for a good long minute.

Dean blushed under the gaze.

"Are you alright, Dean? Do you want me to take it off-"

"No!" The elder Winchester almost raised his hands; he blinked, trying not to think about the image of Sam shirtless and failing. "I'm sorry Sammy, bad day…" He muttered, walking past him. "Gonna have a shower…"

_A cold one. _

~~~~~~*~~~~~~

Sam had noticed his brother was a bit more… 'jumpy' recently. The amount of times he had caught Dean gazing off, his mind somewhere else, only snap back to reality with the dead second energy of a heart attack.

It worried him.

Dean was unhappy too, even though he tried to hide it. The reek of his despair only now and then cracking through his façade that saw through perfectly anyway.

One way glass for the rest of the world, clear for him.

Sam sighed, nibbling at his bottom lip as he readjusted his book.

Dean was his brother. His best friend. If he could help to carry whatever burden Dean had then he would. He sighed again, staring off to the wall, knowing that he was just reading the same sentence over and over while he worried about his brother.

It had started a few months ago, small things at first, being a little overly edgy. But it had got worse.

A lot worse.

The first time he had really noticed something was up, the half formed worries leaping from his subconscious to conscious mind, was when Dean had walked in on him changing.

Sam had been fully clothed, except for his torso, and he had been rooting around in his bag, trying to find a clean shirt.

His brother had frozen for a second or two, maybe longer because Sam had not seen him at first.

"Hey Dean, could you find me a shirt?"

"Erm, I- Sure." Dean never stammered.

The elder had found an old black one of his, throwing it at Sam, looking down like his shoes were the most interesting things in the world.

"Keep it." He had muttered softly, not missing a beat or glancing up as he walked, carefully, not too fast and not too slow, to the bathroom.

Sam licked his front teeth, frowning as he remembered.

"If only he would tell me…" He muttered.

There had been other things too, small things, not getting too close to Sam, always a step or so away, he didn't look him in the eye anymore either, as if he was… embarrassed?

Sam shook his head. _Can't be it._

His habits as well, Dean didn't seem to eat as much, which was peculiar in itself, but what was even stranger was the girls Dean hooked up with.

Before his brother had had no real type or preference, other than 'Free Spirited'. But now they all seemed to be tall, at least Dean's height, some times even above, the elder Winchester making beelines for tall females in heels, which was odd.

They all seemed to have short shoulder length hair with, most often fringes of some description.

Dark eyes most of the time too.

Their names always sounding similar, 'Amy', or 'Emily', or 'Abby'. Nearly always having the end '-ie' sound.

It just didn't make sense.

He chewed his bottom lip, thinking.

The sound of the key in the motel door startled him; Dean walked in, early from his evenings more recreational exploits.

He never stays the night with them anymore…

"Hey Sammy." He looked at him, sighing wearily. But glad to see the younger man.

"Hey, how was your night?" Sam asked, grinning.

"Fine." There was a pause, a shrug. "She was hot." The younger smirked; some things never change. Maybe he was worrying about nothing.

Dean shut the door, locking it and checking the demon protections as he took off his jacket. He sighed, taking a quiet, private glance as Sam.

He left the sickening spike of nerves strike his chest like a fractured rib as his brother glanced up from his book and smiled.

Wasn't as good as being here though, Sammy…

A small voice from somewhere deep in his mind answered him,

It never is…

**End. **


End file.
